To My Future Self,
It is 6:40 am on February 10th, 2024. I’m sitting in a small cabin at the base of the Beartooth Mountains in Red Lodge, Montana. Kameron and I are spending the weekend snowshoeing and celebrating our ninth anniversary. It snowed six inches last night, and Kenai (our Siberian Husky) looks forward to a full day of playing in the snow.
I got an urge to write a letter to you, my future self. With all the negative news surrounding our planet, fly fishing, and the trout in this region, I want to share how special fly fishing is today. To help you remember what your life looked like fishing the Greater Yellowstone Region at 23 years old, and to remind my current self of all I have to be grateful for. I hope these experiences will still be possible by the time you read this letter and this gives you a snapshot into fly fishing history. Here are a few things I look forward to this fishing season, what I am grateful for today, and the experiences I hope you remember after the years go by.
As I write this letter, there is a lot of talk on how low the snowpack is going into summer. We are in an extended drought and climate change is one of the major political issues. One can’t deny the effects this is having on our trout streams.
Though, as a young angler, I don’t know the difference between the hatches on the Henry’s Fork now and what they were twenty years ago. All I know is that there is an 18-inch rainbow trout rising to green drakes, and I’m grateful to have the opportunity to admire the fish and trick it into eating my fly.
I am grateful to have many cold and clear trout streams in the area. These watersheds hold naturally reproducing trout that grow big and beautiful. On any given fishing trip, I can catch a rainbow, brown, brook, cutthroat, bull, golden, or lake trout. We are lucky to have native species such as the arctic grayling and various strains of cutthroat in these watersheds. Though, I worry we will have lost these native species by the time you read this letter.
The hatches I am most excited about this year include the midges of spring, the green drakes of June, and the late summer terrestrials. However, as the season chugs along, the hatch I am most excited for is the next one. I anticipate the terrestrial fishing to be outstanding with the dry summer ahead, and I hope to find myself on a cutthroat stream with a box full of foam flies. I know you will still love dry fly fishing just as much as you do today.
I lose sleep looking forward to another summer exploring the waters of Yellowstone National Park, chasing after the native Yellowstone cutthroat. There is nothing better than watching a cutthroat tilt its fins and slowly rise to a fly. The combination of red and gold hues interrupted by prominent black spots will never get old. Neither will their willingness to eat a dry fly.
Yes, you may remember how spectacular the fishing was in the Greater Yellowstone region. But it wouldn’t be so unique without the beautiful views, abundant wildlife, and wild experiences.
I vividly remember an outing last summer on Slough Creek. While rigging up my rod, I witnessed a coyote howl to the sky, extending his snouse over the dry sagebrush. He repeated this many times without a care for my presence. In the faint distance, I heard the same eerie scream from across the valley. They went back and forth, and it reminded me of the vast open spaces of the American West. I fished the creek with an eye over my shoulder, dodging the bison herd that occupied the valley. After catching a few cutthroat with no other anglers in sight, I came across a set of elk antlers lying in the grass. The day ended with a breathtaking drive through Yellowstone as the sun set over the mountains. This is what fly fishing in Yellowstone is all about, and why it was one of your favorite places to fish.
I embrace the many days of the year I find solitude on the water The COVID-19 pandemic brought many new anglers to the sport, causing a boom in the fly fishing industry. That being said, there are many days and areas where one can find solitude and rising trout on public land. There is nothing more freeing than fishing a trout stream on public land. A blessing and something I do not take for granted.
The Madison River is open and not heavily regulated. I feel lucky to be able to wake up on any given morning and fish this famous trout stream. The only person I tell is my fiance, who knows I’ll be home at ten even though I told her eight.
Your father-in-law wakes and ties a few midge patterns with a view of the snowy Tetons. He heads down to the river for the afternoon midge hatch on the Henry’s Fork and catches a few trout rising to midges. After a few trout, he takes what he learned that day to tie a few more bugs before bed. It’s inspiring to see the life he has built for himself, and I am forever grateful for all he has taught me over the years. Know that you didn’t take any day on the water with him for granted, as each one was special.
I wonder how your career shapes out, and how you keep fishing a part of your life. Today I leave the computer screen and spend my evenings on one of the many cold rivers within an hour of my two-bedroom apartment. The days I spend fishing after work are special, and catching a fish is just a bonus. I forget about the stresses of life getting lost in the evening hatch.
Do you remember those brisk fall mornings waking before the sun rises? Being the first angler to brush the frost off the fisherman’s trail. The sun illuminated the fall colors on surrounding foliage while the morning streamer bite came to an end. On any cast, the brown trout of your dreams could take you for a wild ride downriver. These were some of your favorite days of the year, where you realized it was never about the fish.
Never forget that old Chevy that you sported while fishing the West. Camping and even living out of it while you chased the next adventure and wild trout. It’s got 265,000 miles and I just replaced the transmission. When this truck dies it signals an end to this stage of my life that I’m not quite ready to leave behind.
Whether it be the native fish, public lands, abundant hatches, cold streams, or the people you had to share it with. I hope you remember how magnificent these times were. Know that you lived in the present and fished as hard as you could. How free it was to live in the Rocky Mountains and understand there was no place you would have rather been in 2024.
Maybe you can still tell the same beautiful woman where you plan to fish for the day. You are healthy and able to hike a few miles off the beaten path to find vibrant cutthroat rising to pale morning duns. To bring your grandson along, and teach him the rhythm of a dry fly cast just like your father-in-law taught you. And to come home to a warm dinner with family, telling stories from the days you are living right now.
Forever grateful,
Your 23-year-old self
2 thoughts on “A Letter To My Future Self”
The only person I tell is my fiance, who knows I’ll be home at ten even though I told her eight. This line stuck out the most. Our other half just seems to know!!!
This is my favorite blog of your so far.
Thanks for posting!!
Thanks Dan that means more than you know. Your awesome.
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